


No Thing Is Without Poison

by WednesdaysDaughter



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fade to Black, Family Feels, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Prequel, Sad Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Ships It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-18 22:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22700836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WednesdaysDaughter/pseuds/WednesdaysDaughter
Summary: Yennefer’s wards hum once activated – primed to stun intruders dumb enough to encroach on their campsite. When Jaskier settles across his chest, Geralt breathes in the hint of honeysuckle and shoves the bitter forewarning into the back of his mind.‘You’re being paranoid,’ he scolds internally, tightening his grip around Jaskier’s shoulders.‘When have your instincts ever been wrong?’ a voice sounding suspiciously like Vesemir reasons.‘Fuck off.’~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~A kinda prequel of sorts toHoney You're Familiarbut I'd suggest reading that first personally.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 29
Kudos: 1070





	No Thing Is Without Poison

**Author's Note:**

> You asked, and I finally did it. Yes, I got distracted by a soulmate & Hanahaki AU but at least I got those done pretty quick. Hope this satisfies!
> 
> (p.s. action scenes are not my forte and I can't write sex scenes anymore even though I'd really like to so 'fade to black' is gonna be a common tag with my Witcher stuff - sorry)

The blood drop clinging to Jaskier’s bottom lip is driving him mad.

A quick flash of pink as Jaskier’s tongue darts out and misses; the drop perfectly content to remain in place until Geralt is forced to reach out and collect it on his thumb. He smirks when Jaskier’s scent spikes with arousal the moment Geralt slides his thumb into his mouth.

The mood is instantly ruined by Yennefer’s disgusted groan.

“Get a room you two, honestly.”

“We had a room Yennefer – a very good one in fact.” Jaskier quips, “But someone, who shall remain nameless, decided it was time to leave town.”

“Well maybe the next time that certain someone learns about a jilted lover’s plan to pin the sword on the bard she’ll keep her mouth shut.”

They continue to banter back and forth and if Geralt hadn’t already been aware of the shift in their relationship he’d probably think them cursed. The venom that once laced their tones shifted from poison to remedy; playful deprecation that masks the true depth of affection they’d cultivated.

“Are they always like this?” Ciri asks once she finished securing her bag to Roach.

“Hmm.”

Yennefer reaches out to touch the developing bruise on Jaskier’s jaw; careful not to disturb his busted lip. The kindness of her gesture brings a crooked smile to Jaskier’s aching face.

“You should see the other guy.”

“That one,” Yennefer gestures to a lump in the far stall where their horses spent the night, “right there?”

Geralt turns and studies the body, “No, he’s just drunk.”

“That one,” Ciri points to a body next to the crooked well.

People in the square who’d witnessed the confrontation offer the unconscious man no assistance. Most of them were familiar with Geralt’s companions and knew better than to accost the bard for anything other than an encore. They simply step over the body and nod politely at Geralt and the others.

“Nice work.”

Geralt inclines his head and then goes to mount Roach. Once settled he goes to offer Ciri a hand up only to find she’s seated in front of Jaskier on Bluebell.

“He wiggles a lot,” Geralt warns and Ciri giggles at Jaskier’s indignant sputtering.

“I am an exceptional rider Geralt and I’ll not stand for you slander.”

“Bet you’ll lay down for it though.”

Yennefer’s cackle follows them out town and Jaskier refuses to speak to either of them when he sees the smirk on Geralt’s face.

“Ciri, you’re my only friend in this cruel world.”

“I’m telling Triss.”

“Oh shut up witch.”

Geralt’s bark of laughter triggers the others until the sound of merriment is joined by the strumming of strings – a familiar melody following them down the road.

They settle into a routine on the way to Kaer Morhen.

Not wanting to attract attention, they stick to the woods. Yennefer and Ciri bunk in the enchanted tent while Jaskier clings to Geralt’s warm body beneath the stars. The relative peace lasts for six nights before the inevitable happens. Used to Jaskier’s griping on the road, Geralt refuses to stop at an inn until Ciri sneezes loud enough to startle the wildlife.

Geralt waits for Jaskier’s ‘I told you so’ but it never comes.

“Poor dear,” Jaskier coos instead, fumbling for the blanket in his pack until he’s wrapped it around Ciri. “You need a good meal and a hot bath.”

“We’re not far from Flotsam,” Yennefer suggests, “From there it’s a fortnight’s ride to the mountain pass.”

“Ah Flotsam, brings back memories.”

Geralt studies the faraway look on Jaskier’s face, “How many of the local husbands want to string you up?”

Jaskier opens his mouth to deliver a sarcastic retort when it snaps shut and he decides that his reins are more interesting than continuing the conversation.

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighs.

“Four,” Jaskier confesses, “maybe five? I’m not sure if Lord Percival actually saw me or not.”

“I suppose it could be worse.”

Geralt shoots Yennefer an unimpressed scowl which remains as ineffective as ever. “The last thing we need is to draw attention to ourselves.”

Ciri sneezes again.

Yennefer arches her brow as Jaskier begins rubbing his hands along Ciri’s arms in hopes of warming her further.

“Flotsam it is.”

They arrive under the cover of night and head straight for the inn. After securing two rooms without fuss they split up.

“I have enough herbs to prevent the cold from getting worse. I’ll head to the apothecary in the morning,” Yennefer assures Geralt who is reluctant to leave an ill Ciri’s side.

“Come on,” Jaskier’s hand wraps around Geralt’s wrist and he tugs lightly. “Yennefer knows what she’s doing. Ciri will be alright.”

“Finally the bard speaks with sense.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes, “Don’t get used to it. I’m sure I’ll say something foolish tomorrow.”

Geralt allows Jaskier to pull him into the room at the end of the hall. Four doors exist between him and Ciri; the distance unsettles him.

“She’s safe Geralt,” Jaskier soothes.

The sensation of lips pressing gently against his carotid makes Geralt’s breath hitch and his hands close instinctively around Jaskier’s hips.

Jaskier grins into Geralt’s throat, “There you are.”

“Here I am.”

Deft fingers dance across his shoulders, removing Geralt’s armor with skill developed over years of practice. Geralt groans when he sees Jaskier’s tongue trace his bottom lip once Geralt’s shirt joins the leather on the floor.

“Still worried?”

Geralt kisses the smirk off Jaskier’s mouth until they’re panting, hands roaming over each other’s bodies like it could be the last time.

“Worried you won’t be able to ride tomorrow.”

A wounded noise slips from Jaskier’s swollen lips and he goes limp when Geralt slips his hands into his breeches. Forehead resting on Geralt’s shoulder, Jaskier whimpers and clenches his fingers until he’s pulling Geralt in for another kiss.

“Who say’s we’re leaving this room tomorrow?”

Geralt’s chuckle follows them to the bed and is quickly replaced with desperate groans pressed into slick flesh. When morning comes, Yennefer raises her hand to knock on their door, but it swings open before her fist can connect with the wood.

“We’re staying for a few days.”

Geralt doesn’t wait for a reply, risking Yennefer’s ire when he closes the door without waiting for a reply and slides back into bed.

“She’s going to turn you into a frog,” Jaskier warns – voice thick with sleep.

“You can just kiss me better.”

Jaskier snorts, but doesn’t disagree choosing instead to throw his limbs over Geralt’s chest until they’re tangled like vines.

The comfortable silence is broken by Yennefer’s voice tinged with amusement, “What I was going to say is that Ciri’s fever has spiked and I’m going to get supplies. She’s asking for you both so if you don’t mind disappointing a sick child then I’ll be on my way.”

A beat, then in unison a heartfelt “Fuck.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They come across a few jobs throughout their travels; a drowner here – an undead there.

Geralt makes quick work of the monsters while Yennefer fills Ciri’s head with tips and tricks to control her powers. Jaskier, as always, insists on tagging along to provide his usual commentary and afterwards tinkers with his unfinished compositions.

“She cherishes that sadness, tells him to lie down on the grass. Closes each of his eyes with a finger, applies her body like a poultice.”

“That one’s not half bad,” Yennefer concedes, hands busy plucking petals from a bushel of feverfew. The fire cracks and Jaskier’s abrupt inhale is lost in its sound.

Geralt watches the smile unfurl across Jaskier’s face and it warms like the sun that has long set. Ciri hums along with Jaskier’s melody from beneath her blanket and the stars twinkle silently above them: Voyeurs soaking up the peace below.

Yennefer’s wards hum once activated – primed to stun intruders dumb enough to encroach on their campsite. When Jaskier settles across his chest, Geralt breathes in the hint of honeysuckle and shoves the bitter forewarning into the back of his mind.

‘ _You’re being paranoid_ ,’ he scolds internally, tightening his grip around Jaskier’s shoulders.

‘ _When have your instincts ever been wrong_?’ a voice sounding suspiciously like Vesemir reasons.

‘ _Fuck off_.’

It takes Geralt three hours to drift off and when the morning comes he awakes with the tang of anxiety in his mouth. He kisses Jaskier awake in hopes of capturing a more pleasant taste which lingers until midday when a shock lights up his spine.

He hates being right.

The sudden rush of birds overhead is the first warning.

“Uh, Geralt…?”

The ear-splitting shriek is the second.

“Go!”

Down the mountain path they bolt; Roach pulling ahead of Jaskier’s mare in time to nudge her out of the way of falling rocks. Something crashes into the trees and braches fall, debris occasionally making contact.

“Shit that hurt!”

Jaskier’s vision goes blurry and his hands tighten on Bluebell’s reins to resist the urge to touch the growing lump on the back of his skull. He blinks rapidly to dispel the tears that’ve gathered until he can clearly make out the blue of Ciri’s cloak. She’s clinging to Geralt who somehow managed to unsheathe his sword.

“Are you okay?”

Nodding frantically, Jaskier is quick to assure her.

“It’s going to take more than a measly piece of wood to knock me out!”

A bounder the size of a small cart falls to his left and the shriek he emits is followed by a loud cackle.

“Sounds like it heard you.”

Jaskier resists the urge to turn around and glare at Yennefer, but he decides to hold off given the fact a monster is trying to kill them. Her arm tightens around his waist before she hurls a fire ball into a break in the foliage – a dark shadow flying out of reach past her attack.

“Shit,” she swears in Jaskier’s ear.

“Keep going,” Geralt commands and he can hear Jaskier and Yennefer roll their eyes in tandem.

“So I shouldn’t stop and ask the creature for directions then?”

Ciri’s torn between fear and amusement, but her muffled snort breaks through the sound of her frantic panting. Geralt is both grateful for Jaskier’s humor and irritated in equal measure.

“Jaskier,” Geralt warns, urging Roach to the left towards the last clearing before the mountain pass’ entrance.

“Levity is lost on him.”

“Agreed.”

Before he can admonish Yennefer the creature dives, slamming into Bluebell and the horse’s panicked cry chills Geralt’s blood. Ciri yells as Roach pivots sharply nearly unseating her and Geralt. Over the pandemonium the sickening crack of a broken bone is swiftly followed by Jaskier’s shout. He slides along the ground and uses a tree to prop himself up.

Yennefer maneuvers Jaskier behind her and the bard frantically attempts to help his mare to her feet in spite of his injury. The wyvern stalks forward, poisoned tail poised to attack when Geralt lunges forward.

Once the monster’s focus has shifted to Geralt, Yennefer pulls Jaskier towards Ciri and Roach. Bluebell shrinks into the surrounding foliage and stays put much to Jaskier’s relief. Yennefer times her attacks with Geralt’s and the wyvern spits venom onto the snow dusted ground.

“Take Ciri and go!”

Geralt’s words are nearly drowned out by the creature’s snarl, but Yennefer repeats the command without taking her eyes off the wyvern.

Normally Jaskier would protest, but he realizes the seriousness of the situation and tables the argument for later. Before he can help Ciri onto Roach, Geralt goes flying through the clearing – tossed by the wyvern’s wily tail. Yennefer is unable to move in time and the breath is knocked from her lungs when Geralt lands on her.

The creature focuses its yellow eyes on Ciri who lunges forward to help Geralt and Yennefer. Time slows and Jaskier acts without hesitating; throwing his body around Ciri’s like a shield in time for the wyvern’s trident to pierce his back.

Pain unlike anything he’s ever experienced shoots up his spine.

“Jaskier!”

The ringing in his ears overwhelms Geralt’s shout and suddenly Yennefer is helping him lie backwards on the cold snow. Her mouth is moving, but he cannot hear her voice. Ciri’s tearstained cheek is the last thing he sees before the venom settles into his blood and carries him into darkness.

Geralt watches the bard go limp and the rush of adrenaline that fills his veins burns like liquid steel. He throws himself at the wyvern, cutting the tail off at its base and using it like a whip to corral the creature against a large oak. He cannot afford to look back, trusting Yennefer to keep Jaskier alive long enough for them to carry him up the mountain.

He hacks the wyvern’s wings off and doesn’t stop swinging until the creature lay dead. Blood drips down his face and onto the white ground. When his medallion vibrates he turns in time to see a second wyvern, but an arrow flies into the side of its head, pulling its attention away from Geralt.

Vesemir, along with Lambert and Eskel, deal with the second monster clearing Geralt a path to Jaskier.

Yennefer’s speaking before he can ask, “I’ve managed to stabilize him for now, but we have to get him somewhere warm. Getting the poison out of his bloodstream isn’t going to be pretty.”

Geralt mounts Roach and pulls Jaskier into his lap with Yennefer’s help.

“Go ahead, Triss will be waiting. Ciri and I are right behind you.”

Geralt doesn’t wait around to be told twice, nudging Roach forward until she trots forward, sensing the unbridled panic pumping through Geralt’s veins. Jaskier’s breathing is choppy, hitching uncertainly as unconsciousness holds him hostage. Geralt fills the silence with his gruff voice, hoping Jaskier can hear him as they race up the path to the safety of Kaer Morhen.

“Stay with me.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“It’s called retrograde amnesia.”

Triss’ voice is heavy with sympathy and Yennefer’s purple eyes speak a dozen words Geralt doesn’t care to know.

“Is it reversible?”

Triss wrings her hands together which is an answer in itself. “That depends on a multitude of circumstances Geralt. I am hopeful that with time Jaskier will recover his memories, but it’s not something I can say for certain.”

“Give me the odds.”

Yennefer smothers her scoff, taking a deep breath to soothe her own agitation. “This isn’t a game of Gwent. There’s no answer that’ll satisfy you Geralt: All you can do is wait.”

He scowls, but his ire is not directed towards Yennefer or Triss. Jaskier is alive because of their quick thinking and he doesn’t have the words to express his gratitude. He watches Ciri as she stands in the doorway, eyes locked on Jaskier’s rising and falling chest. He’d been the first to assuage her guilt and she had wrapped her arms around his waist as they waited for Jaskier to wake.

“He’s going to be bedridden for a while,” Yennefer eventually breaks the silence. “When Bluebell collapsed he landed wrong and her weight helped snap his bone.”

“He’s not going to like that,” Geralt warns and Yennefer shrugs.

“There’s only so much magic can heal.”

Geralt grunts and turns to leave, but makes a quick detour to his bed where Jaskier slumbers fitfully. Not caring about his audience, Geralt bends down to press a quick kiss to Jaskier’s brow and the touch soothes the wrinkles gathered in distress. Jaskier’s breath evens out and Geralt cannot help the rush of satisfaction that fills his chest.

“Even in dreams he’s completely besotted with you,” Yennefer teases.

Her scent is bright with happiness and Geralt reaches out to squeeze her hand in thanks. She hears his unspoken message and returns the pressure, “Get some rest Geralt. Triss and I will keep him company.”

He nudges Ciri out of the doorway and she follows him to the kitchen where he prepares them some stew. They eat in silence, Geralt not fond of small talk and Ciri too worried about Jaskier to speak. When she yawns, Geralt escorts her to the room she shares with Yennefer.

He tucks her in, a gesture that feels more natural than it probably should, and Ciri reaches out to stop him from leaving.

“Will you tell me a story about Jaskier?”

Geralt lets her grip guide him until he’s sitting at the foot of her bed. He’s not known for his story telling abilities – that’s Jaskier’s domain, but Ciri’s blue eyes hold him in place until Geralt sighs.

Sensing his defeat, Ciri grins and wiggles deeper into the mattress without letting go of Geralt’s hand.

“During our travels through the Verden forest Jaskier stumbled into a fairy ring and found himself engaged to the Prince...”

Ciri falls asleep mid-tale and Geralt pulls the blanket up around her shoulders before leaving, nearly bumping into Yennefer who’d been standing in the hallway for the past ten minutes.

“You were very… pragmatic.”

“Hmm.”

“Jaskier would’ve been more dramatic.”

“Well, storytelling is his forte, not mine.”

Yennefer nods and together they make their way down the hall to where Triss is waiting for them – the look on her face instantly putting Geralt on alert. Her prognosis makes Geralt’s heart plummet into his stomach.

“He’s lost fourteen months.”

Yennefer swears and Geralt can do nothing but silently agree as they debate on the best course of action. He agrees to let Ciri see Jaskier in the morning and goes to walk the battlements in order to clear his head.

Three hours later once the moon has reached its pinnacle Geralt returns to his post outside Jaskier’s door and waits. The days develop a similar pattern as Jaskier trudges through the various stages of healing. Geralt is there when Jaskier remembers Triss and he grits his teeth when he recounts his time with Yennefer.

Ciri glowers in the face of Geralt’s brooding and eventually it’s her admission that finally motivates Geralt.

_“He thinks you still hate him!”_

His own sorrow tastes like kikimore viscera and Jaskier’s smells like bile so Geralt stops lingering in the doorway and reclaims his place by the bard’s side. He takes him along the ruins of Kaer Morhen, keeping close so when Jaskier inevitably slips it’s into Geralt’s arms.

Jaskier’s flush makes Geralt preen internally: The evidence of the bard’s affection does its part in lessening the ache amnesia left in its wake. Geralt’s frustration is nothing compared to Jaskier’s.

Jaskier pokes and prods at Geralt’s wounds, not realizing how much Geralt desires to push the bard into the stone and smother his inquisitiveness with eager lips. After rebuffing Jaskier’s questions for two weeks Jaskier snaps.

“Did we have sex?”

After a beat of silence Jaskier forges on, but Geralt’s heart thumps painfully in his chest and it takes all his training to hide behind the mask of indifference. Of all the things for Jaskier to remember, the sex is the least important event that happened that night. Were Geralt’s feelings not real enough? Were his words not memorable enough?

“You remember the sex, but not the conversation that came before?”

“Yes?”

“Unbelievable.”

Geralt doesn’t remember telling his feet to move and his trek to the western tower passes in a blur. Rationally he knows he’s being immature, but his gut is tender from the weight of dejection that settled in for the long haul.

He hears Jaskier’s aggravated exhales before he smells his anger and Geralt is transported to a mountain and then to a tavern: The memories crystal clear in his mind as if he’s reliving them.

“You great big horses ass get down here and talk to me like a man!”

It’s not the first time he’s been called that by Jaskier and while he closes the distance between them he’s reminded of the djinn. It hadn’t been the first time he feared for Jaskier, but it was the first time he realized what it meant.

He’d been falling in love with Jaskier; a recognition more terrifying than any monster ever faced.

Tears fill Jaskier’s blue eyes and Geralt is helpless when confronted with a melancholy similar to his own.

“Jaskier, I’m sorry.”

The stone beneath Jaskier decides to crumble and Geralt isn’t sure if he can take much more of this terror. He is too slow to stop Jaskier’s descent backwards along the weathered steps. Yennefer is next to him before he’s got Jaskier secure in his arms and she’s whispering a spell – glowing blue hands resting on Jaskier’s forehead – when Triss shows up.

“Not again,” she mumbles and Geralt cannot help but echo the same sentiment as he carries Jaskier back to bed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“That is not what happened.”

Ciri laughs at Jaskier’s outrage and Geralt shrugs. It’s been a month since Jaskier’s memories returned and he takes pleasure in testing his cognitive abilities. A fire burns brightly in the courtyard, the crisp fragrance of winter interrupted by the occasional waft of wood smoke.

“Geralt how dare you warp my heroic deeds for your own sick amusement!”

“Sounds pretty in character to me,” Yennefer grins and when Jaskier tosses a handful of snow at her she redirects it until it hits Triss’ shoulder.

“She did it!” Jaskier points an accusing finger at Yennefer when Triss sputters from the cold.

“Coward!” Yennefer crows and her accusations dissolve into shouts of merriment when Triss hurls a snowball at her.

Ciri joins in, leaping from her spot between Jaskier and Geralt when Yennefer misses and the snowball lands at Ciri’s feet. Geralt closes the distance between him and Jaskier, wrapping an arm around the bard’s shoulders until he can bury his face in Jaskier’s neck.

“Fuck! Geralt your nose is freezing!”

“Care to warm me up then?”

“Gross.”

Jaskier shakes apart beneath his laughter and Geralt’s instincts are blissfully quiet for the first time in months: Until Jaskier shoves a handful of snow into the back of Geralt’s shirt that is.

“Run little bard.”

“Geralt, have mercy!”

He tackles Jaskier into the snow and in between breathless kisses they shove handfuls snow into places it doesn’t belong. Jaskier shivers and opens his mount to complain, but Geralt’s smile blooms like the sun until it chases away the cold and fills Jaskier’s chest with inextinguishable warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote a Hobbit fic a few years ago where one could literally gift their heart (yes the one beating in their chest) to their loved ones to protect and whatnot. I reread it recently and decided I was gonna hurt Jaskier some more and rip his heart out (literally) and have Geralt take care of it. [Yay?]
> 
> So, keep an eye out if that sounds like something you'd be interesting in reading. 
> 
> The Hobbit fic you asked?  
> [Sink Into Your Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3194660/)


End file.
